


Cut your teeth

by airafleeza



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aggressive "I" statements, Anal Sex, Consensual Blood Drinking, Couch Sex, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, Gabriel is trying to do better, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jack is trying to do better, M/M, Miscommunication, Not everything is fixed and that's okay, Old Men In Love, Post-Recall, Power Bottom Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Relationship Negotiation, That isn't how "I" statements are supposed to work, Vampire Bites, Vampire Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airafleeza/pseuds/airafleeza
Summary: It’s clear by Friday that Gabriel is avoiding him.—Or, a lesson in improvisation and vampires.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 27
Kudos: 115





	Cut your teeth

**Author's Note:**

> **TW: brief mention of a character throwing up, nothing explicit or detailed.**
> 
> —
> 
> OK, onto business...
> 
> My god........... it's finally HERE.
> 
> Per usual, this fic is an old idea that took too long to share. Will I ever become braver while sharing my writing? The world will never know!!
> 
> This is VERY self-indulgent, but I hope others can find it enjoyable!! Vampire AUs are my bread and butter, and I know there are fellow monsterfuckers out there in this big, wild world!
> 
> I want to thank an entire CAST of people who helped w cheering me on, dealing w my insecurities, and offering feedback. My sweet [Chibs](http://twitter.com/chibimonoakuno) is a ray of light and encouragement in this dark and strange world. The incredible and unstoppable [MsTrick](https://twitter.com/MsTrick16) edited and provided amazing feedback. Your talent and kindness know no bounds. [Ari](https://twitter.com/ignisgayentia).......... my porn prince and savior........ thank you for making sure this fic reached its horny potential. Your service is appreciated as always, friend. <3
> 
> Alrighty, buds! Dig in.

It’s clear by Friday that Gabriel is avoiding him. 

The unanswered “why” is an itch deep under Jack’s skin, the need to know all-consuming. An ambush to get answers is always an option, but there’s always the chance cornering Gabriel will make things worse. Historically speaking, it’s a great way to put him on the defensive and a bad way to have a productive conversation.

Apparently, they need to have those— _productive conversations_. That’s what their therapist tells them, at least. At this point, Jack would prefer any sort of dialogue over none at all.

He finally tacks Gabriel down after a chain of "have you seen Gabe?”s leads him to Angela’s office. Squinting, Jack thinks he sees the shock of gray hair against brown skin and amorphous dark clothing that could be a hoodie and sweatpants. In the time it takes to put on his glasses for confirmation, a flock of fresh-faced agents appears from nowhere. 

He briskly weaves around them, an internal monologue of “don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me” running through his head. He avoids a few friendly agents by turning a corner and that’s when he sees Gabriel stopped in the middle of the walkway. Jack is a few feet behind him in no time, immediately fixating on how tight and tense his rolled-back shoulders are, his hands made into fists. Stepping closer, the moment Jack gives away his presence is obvious: Gabriel flinches slightly but doesn’t turn back to look at him. Whatever he’s staring at must be a threat of some kind to have his full attention and hackles raised. Jack leans to the side to get a better look.

Instead of an obvious threat, hidden behind Gabriel’s bulk is a young agent. Her ID reads as last name “Monroe,” and the lanyard it’s attached to features a repeated print of the national flag of Jamaica. 

Jack remembers speaking to her once, her deadpan humor standing out to him after days of filtering through bubbly new recruits. The two chatted about how clearly their parents disregarded child labor laws (“I had to work every summer at my gran’s restaurant since I was fourteen,” “I’m pretty sure my parents lied to me when I was five when they said berry-picking was a game everyone loved to play”), and she thanked him for his service. He’s seen her a few times in passing. Even though he recognized that starstruck look on her dark complexion every time their eyes met, she hasn’t tried to talk to him again.

Her conversation with Gabriel sounds similar to the one she had with Jack as she thanks him politely and offers a hand to shake. Gabriel eyes her hand then the rest of her. A minute passes, Monroe waiting patiently, completely oblivious to the fact that Gabriel’s reaction isn’t normal—even for the old Blackwatch commander.

That’s when Jack decides to save the day. Making sure his footsteps are audible, he moves to Gabriel’s side and grabs his arm. Now connected to him, Jack notices he’s shaking. From what, he can’t tell. He tugs the fabric of Gabriel’s hoodie, encouraging him to turn his body away from her and instead face him. Unwillingly, he does. His face is all screwed up—nothing new—and twisted in a grimace. Before, Jack thought Gabriel was angry—but this? This right here is Gabriel trying his best to remain calm.

“Hey,” Jack interrupts, pale grip tightening on Gabriel’s arm as he tries to act casual. “Hey, uh. Sorry. Can I borrow him?”

The question seems to genuinely surprise her, her yellow eyes going wide. “Yes?”

He promises to bring him back later, having no clue when that will be or how he’s supposed to find her. He yanks Gabriel’s stiff body to his side, dragging him in the direction of their room. After a few steps, whatever hold possessing Gabriel releases him and he attempts to drag his feet. There’s a grumble that sounds like, “you’re making a scene.” 

Jack only turns on him once their bedroom door slams shut.

“I’m making a scene? What the fuck was that?”

Gabriel crosses his arms and looks him dead in the eye. “Some new blood with some misplaced hero worship.”

Jack groans and Gabriel glares. Wonderful. He loves dealing with Gabriel when he’s in one of his self-deprecating sour moods. It’d be easier if he just came out and said what’s eating at him, but by the looks of it, that’s not going to happen unless someone pries it out. 

All the energy Jack had reserved for “constructive feedback” and “helpful concern” is gone already. It hurt having Gabriel go AWOL on him without a word. It hurt seeing glimpses of him on the base and realizing Gabriel wasn’t looking in his direction at all. It’s too close to how things were at the end, and it’s too soon after getting him back for that wound to have healed. Jack drops his head and rubs his temples. He doesn’t even have the will to raise his own voice anymore. 

“What’s your problem, Reyes?”

Surprise animates Gabriel’s face. He pauses, looks around their room as if he doesn’t recognize the place, and appears to be… remorseful, maybe. It’s been three days since he’d slept in the same bed as Jack. Hell, judging by the state of him, maybe it’s been three days since he’s slept at all. Since Angela’s treatments, Gabriel has bore little resemblance to the man he was when he arrived at the watchpoint, but today there are spots of molten flesh freckle across his cheeks for the first time in months.

“Nothing.” Gabriel’s foot prods at the carpet aimlessly. He’s _sulking_. Which typically means the best way to get him out of that is with gentle easing.

It’s harder to be angry with Gabriel when he looks unhappy and Jack misses him as much as he does. He nudges Gabriel, who startles. Jack takes note but doesn’t comment. 

“Gabe, c’mon. I… feel like something is wrong.” 

Subtly, Gabriel moves out of nudging distance and huffs at the “I” statement. “Yeah, well.” He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and resolutely looks _not_ at Jack. “ _I_ am fine.”

“ _I_ think that’s a load of shit.”

“And _I_ don’t want to argue.”

This might be his only chance to back out. Judging how the conversation is going so far, a retreat might be the best option. He thinks he can let the discussion rest if Gabriel promises to stay, if they can stay side-by-side and talk about it when they’re drowsy and drunk off the heat of skin-to-skin.

But Gabriel doesn’t even let Jack get as far as to suggest maybe they should sleep on it. Jack takes one step closer and suddenly Gabriel’s eyes snap to a brilliant red as he snarls, “Back off.”

Something delicate instantly wilts in Jack’s chest. It must show in his face; Gabriel’s eyes widen minutely and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s over-the-top, even for him, and when Jack marches up to him to get into his face, the trembling starts again. Or maybe it never stopped. This time, there’s also something fearful behind it—as if Jack terrifies him and he’s clamoring for control of himself in more ways than one.

Close up, the signs that something is wrong are unavoidable. The elongated fangs pressing into his thick bottom lip, the crimson glow set against a black sclera, the pupils large and dark as they trail Jack’s every movement with anticipation. 

Gabriel is hungry.

The revelation behind Reaper’s hunger was startling in the beginning, even for a man who had fought alongside giant crusaders and angels alike. Jack had seen his fair share of the corpses Reaper left behind, unnatural and made by inhuman means. After they brought in the reaper and helped reverse some of Moira’s meddling, he still kept his distance from Jack—especially on the field.

Things may have stayed that way indefinitely, but one day changed all that. A mission nearly ended prematurely when a Talon agent got the upper hand on Soldier: 76. Jack was too close to mistake the fangs for anything else as Gabriel materialized from seemingly nowhere and tore the agent apart. The expression on his face was sheer ecstasy as he panted wantonly in his lust and finished his violent chore. Blood sprayed on Jack’s exposed forehead and visor as his legs failed him and he fell on his ass. The movement caught the reaper’s attention, who turned and fixated on the soldier with no trace of recognition. He managed one step before Jack ripped off his faceplate and yelled Gabriel’s name. 

Hearing his own name and getting a good look at the person calling for him made Gabriel stop. He retched, throwing up the blood he had just consumed. Before Jack could speak, Gabriel turned into a fog and zipped away.

He would get his answers back at the base in Angela’s office. The moment she left to grab supplies, Gabriel stepped from the shadows. Arms crossed in a show of aloofness, he had demanded a second of Jack’s time.

They talked—really talked—for the first time in years. 

To Jack’s surprise, Gabriel didn’t like the term “vampire,” even if it best described what he had become. He required life and materials his own body failed to provide in a timely enough manner to function. Refusal to meet the demands of his condition resulted in lost time and bloody accidents. Months of weedling would later reveal the constant pain Gabriel was in, how feeding eased that and gave him back a sense of control, how this existence was anguish for a monster who wanted to be a man. 

It was easier living as a creature with nothing to lose. But the moment Winston and Reinhardt eased him inside the facilities at Gibraltar and he spotted the unreadable visor watching from the end of the hallway, Gabriel had decided to be human—if only initially as a "fuck you" to the critical eye of a former comrade. 

For Jack, they had stopped being normal a long time ago. If the SEP had altered Gabriel, he was no different.

“Who knows?” Jack had entertained. “Maybe I’ll be howling at the next full moon.” 

It had earned a scoff from Gabriel, who seemed to have met his daily quota for vulnerability. The declaration that being human was overrated was what finally got him to laugh, which made Jack want to kiss him, which led to Gabriel apparently reading his mind and beating him to the punch.

When Angela found them in the med-bay exam room making up for decades of time wasted on pining, they argued keeping this a secret should fall under doctor-patient confidentiality. No one needed to know about Gabriel pushed on top of the counter, legs wrapped around Jack’s hips as he tried to tug him up and closer by his threadbare white t-shirt—or how Jack’s hand was clearly up the back of Gabriel’s sweater and raking blunt nails down his spine in a way that made Gabriel arch and bare his throat. Or worse: how when Angela surprised them, Jack jumped away so fast Gabriel didn’t have the chance to release him and instead went tumbling down, landing on Jack’s chest so hard they both squawked on impact.

It was good. _They_ were good for the first time in nearly a decade. They approached the future like the worst was already behind them. While Jack couldn't have predicted Gabriel's hunger becoming such a challenge, he wasn't about to balk.

Jack is careful when he touches Gabriel’s arm—slow and steady and trying not to startle.

“Angie too busy?” 

Eating, according to the resident vampire, is a hindrance, burden, and inconvenience. Jack is always quick to brush the notion off, blaming Gabriel’s natural inclination for dramatics. It shouldn't be the guilt-inducing ordeal Gabriel makes it out to be.

“No.” Gabriel nudges at the floor again with his shoe but doesn’t pull away. “We… after the Florence mission. It… agents come first. _Living_ ones. We haven’t been restocked yet.” He scratches at his short-shorn scalp. “Ziegler requested emergency supplies from the hospital. They won’t be here until Monday because of the flash floods.”

The mission in Florence had held itself together by threads: they’d lost five new agents with ten still in recovery. It’s been two days since Jack saw Angela outside of the main med-bay, and any reported sightings involved running around in scrubs, hair pinned and pulled out of her face. With Lucio and Symmetra tying up loose ends in São Paulo this week, the good doctor is already low on staff at the worst possible time—as if a surprise bomb planted in the Talon facility they were investigating could ever come at a great time.

The whole ordeal was one headache after another: first, it meant that Talon knew there was a leak providing information to Overwatch. Sombra was compromised, and despite Gabriel’s “couldn’t-care-less” attitude, the increased threat to her safety irked him. 

Second, the Florence warehouse confirmed what they’d been afraid of: Talon and Null Sector were combining resources. Talon’s participation in crafting another world-wide conflict was a threat Jack couldn’t quite fathom—he’d only seen the tip, but he knew enough that Talon ran deep in several global organizations. Another Omnic War was rising to meet them with an even deadlier stranglehold than the first. 

Now, to top it all off, the high volume of patients who required blood transfusions in the aftermath of the explosion means Gabriel hasn’t fed in days. With the rain season as bad as it is and resources low, there won’t be an op to lend him the opportunity to feed on Talon grunts either. It’s the lost dot Jack needs before he sees the picture clearly. Gabriel isn’t just hungry—he’s starving. The fear before wasn’t of Jack—it’s for Jack. 

The frustrating thing is he understands. He’s pissed, but he shares the martyr’s affliction and knows how profound love and awful pride can lead to alienation.

He hears the voice of their relationship therapist in his head yammering on about _something-something_ “communication is key.” In an ideal world, it would come easy. But that isn’t the world they live in. Jack can give him a piece of his mind later when Gabriel looked less limp and miserable. 

He loosens his grip to rub Gabriel’s arm. “We gotta do something.”

Gabriel gives a noncommittal grunt, eyelids sliding nearly closed as he watches the movement of Jack’s thumb. It’s meant to be comforting, but Gabriel looks at it like one might an annoying insect. The tender action feels like it’s being spurned and Jack wants to pull away and leave him to his own devices to teach him a lesson, but he powers through the destructive impulse and stays.

The wraith shrugs, disinterested, and turns his head. “There’s nothing to be done. Not for a few days.”

“I mean it.” Jack tugs on him, pulling him in the direction of the bedroom. “You’re useless to me like this.”

Gabriel yanks his arm back, expression incredulous. Whatever he was expecting, this rough treatment isn’t it. Jack can’t keep up the facade for long and laughs until his arm curls protectively over his stomach. Despite an unamused sneer on his lips, Gabriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he pushes Jack away playfully. 

“Fuck you, man.” 

Jack beams at his response, resulting in Gabriel shoving him a little harder than before. 

“Jesus,” Gabriel continues, trying to hide his small smile, “I should be the one wondering why I keep you around.”

Before he can be pushed again, Jack catches Gabriel’s hand and grapples with him. Despite being one of the strongest men he’s ever met, second only to Reinhardt, Gabriel is surprisingly gentle as Jack tries and fails to keep him at arm’s length. The roughhousing is lighthearted and reminiscent of their days together as younger men.

“Yeah? And why do you?” 

And then Gabriel gives him _the look_ —the look that happens seconds before he says something sweet and shamefully honest. Last time, it involved waxing poetic about how he’d kept photos of Jack in his office as a reminder of why he remained in Overwatch. Commanding Blackwatch had little to do with the world and everything to do with the man trying to hold it together. 

Jack, the lesser wordsmith of the two, rarely knows what to say. He’s usually too stunned or embarrassed to respond or divulge one of the countless pleasant thoughts he’s had of Gabriel. The only time he’d managed to say something worth a damn in return was the first “I love you,” which was an easy one. Not easy to say, as Jack can’t remember the last time he’d ever told someone he loved them, if ever, but easy because it’d been on his mind for most of his life.

The corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitches before it twists into a rueful smile, shattering the serenity of what might have been a soft moment and tender word. Whatever he was going to say, he seems to decide against it. He successfully disengages from Jack and walks past him, slapping him on the shoulder as he goes by. 

“No clue,” he says, wistful as he moves to the couch and plops down. 

If he’s trying to look casual and comfortable, he’s doing a shit job of it. Gabriel grabs the remote, the light from the television serving only to highlight the deeply etched lines under his eyes, so dark they’re practically bruises. He's rigid, more like a statue posed than a man watching the sports channel.

The fact he hasn't left but looks like he'll burst from his skin any moment puts Jack in a delicate position. More so than usual, Gabriel is hard to read right now—even for Jack. He isn’t smiling as the laugh track blares on. He doesn’t smile for just anyone, but the hard creases near his mouth prove he’s actively frowning. If this were anyone else, Jack might take the hint to back off and maybe give them their space. However, this is Gabriel—Gabriel who isn’t good at asking for help but will take it if it’s offered the right way. 

In the end, that’s exactly what Jack does when he toes off his shoes and steps in front of Gabriel to actively block the TV.

His fingers wrap loosely around Gabriel’s wrist as he tries to convince him. The gesture says _come here_ in a way Jack has asked dozens of times before. _Come here_ after a fight so they don’t go to bed alone or angry. _Come here_ when Gabriel was mourning his grandmother and didn’t know how to let anyone be there for him. Jack asks him now— _come here_ —and like time and time again, Gabriel does. Technically speaking, it's Gabriel who drags Jack closer. He spreads his legs and tugs, fingers curled around the belt loops on Jack’s jeans, but it’s all semantics and Jack couldn’t care less. It’s an invitation when Jack’s knees bump against the solid meat of his inner thigh. Red eyes—predatory and sad more often than they should be—gaze up at him. On a good day, they’re closer to the depthless hazel they used to be and almost twinkle when he laughs.

Jack isn’t satisfied until he’s straddling Gabriel’s thighs, his pale hands gripping the back of the couch and boxing Gabriel in. In another moment, Gabriel wilts. He surrenders by dropping his head forward, tucked in the junction of Jack’s neck and shoulder. He envelopes Jack, arms wrapped around his waist. Touching is simple: Jack molds himself around, protecting him or holding him together—whatever it is Gabriel needs. His nose brushes against short, dark gray hair at his temple, and Gabriel squeezes him and breathes hard, clinging.

For a few minutes, it’s nice. Then Jack starts to wonder if Gabriel is using proximity to hide. He leans back, peeling off Gabriel’s hands and cherishing them in his own. The object of his affection appears to be rather sullen and keeps his gaze down and away, proving that Jack’s assumption isn’t far from the truth. 

He clears his throat. “I need to say something.”

There’s a startled jerk of Gabriel’s head as if he didn’t expect Jack to speak any time soon. He makes an inquisitive sound in the back of his throat as if to say _go on_.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re dramatic as shit?”

Gabriel clicks his tongue. It reminds him of Mrs. Reyes, of the fond exasperation and eye rolls that ensued every time he took Jack home to visit his old stomping grounds. 

“No, Jack. Tell me more.” 

“I will,” Jack muses, “after you eat something.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Monday is the soonest—” 

“Gabriel.” His thumbs flick across the length of the scars engraved on each side of Gabriel’s cheeks. Either he’s pretending to not know what Jack’s meaning is, or the idea is so outrageous it hasn’t even occurred to him. “C’mon.” 

“What?”

“C’mon.” Jack lifts his chin slightly, hinting. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Sorry, Jack.” Gabriel’s smile—slow and patronizing in a way that instantly raises his hackles—exposes sharp teeth. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of a goddamn terrible fucking idea.” 

At one point, jumping to the offensive became Jack’s standard practice during difficult conversations with Gabriel, who still doesn’t make it any easier. Whether he means to or not, getting a rise out of Jack has always been his go-to for veering a conversation off course. This time, however, Jack is determined not to let him win.

Feigning indifference, Jack shrugs. “Matter of opinion, I guess. I think it’s a good idea.”

To say Gabriel looks unamused is putting it kindly. “We stick to blood bags for a reason.” 

Jack sighs. “You’ve always been harder on yourself than—”

That apparently does it for Gabriel, who moves to stand up regardless of the two hundred plus pounds of super soldier on his lap. Instinctively, Jack bears his weight down and attempts to immobilize him by locking his legs around Gabriel’s thighs, tighter and tighter until Gabriel gives up and drops back down. 

Even as Jack tries to soothe him by squeezing his shoulders, Gabriel’s glare is murderous, irises shifting like tides of blood and nostrils flaring. It serves as a reminder that he’s a killer.

 _If he’s one,_ Jack tells himself, _then so am I._ Strangely, there's a comfort in that. They’ve been partners since their truce in basic, and whatever they became—guinea pigs, leaders, vengeful—they did it together.

“No, I know my limits. Something you fucking don’t.” Gabriel’s teeth are clenched so tight it’s probably the only thing preventing him from yelling. “You never have.”

Jack scoffs. “I can handle myself.”

The sentence barely leaves his mouth before Gabriel switches their positions, flipping him onto his back. 

“And what if I overpower you, huh?” he taunts, hovering above Jack.

Black-tipped claws dig into the pulse points of Jack’s wrists, pinning him to the spot lest he move and puncture skin. In the end, it’s Gabriel he’s worried about. The sneer on his face is a familiar expression born of anger and self-hatred, and it’s this awareness that triggers Jack to break out of Gabriel’s hold, disregarding injured wrists for more pressing matters like adjusting his glasses and touching the heartbroken man above him. His fingers curl around Gabriel’s neck, thumbs brushing the horizontal scar spanning across the front of his throat. Jack remembers how he earned it escaping an omnic, how the barbed wire sliced and covered the front of Gabriel’s shirt in blood. The matching one at the back of Jack’s neck itches at the memory. 

Gabriel drops the scare tactic as easily as he picked it up, shutting his eyes and leaning into the touch. When Jack’s thumb presses to his thick bottom lip and drags it down, he inhales, sharp and shaky, fangs exposed. The pinpricks of blood on Jack’s wrist have dried, but he can’t shake the notion that Gabriel is trying to taste it in the air, the scent of life so close as his tongue flicks out. 

Jack wants to give in, to give to him, but loses his train of thought when Gabriel crumbles down with a heavy thud and laughs miserably against his chest. 

He noses at the collar of Jack’s shirt, pulled low on his chest, and murmurs, “People don’t usually live after I’m done with them, Jack.”

Cupping the back of Gabriel’s head, Jack encourages the intimate proximity. He hums, chest vibrating. “I’m not most people.”

“Right.” 

Gabriel is quiet for almost thirty seconds before he slams his fist into a cushion, frustration palpable. “Why the fuck are you doing this to me? You know I—” 

The _I want to_ goes unsaid. 

It’s clearly a confession Gabriel didn’t expect to make and it drives both of them to silence. Eventually, Gabriel groans and lifts his head up just as Jack shifts to see what the problem is. The top of Gabriel’s head collides with Jack’s chin in a resounding _crack!_ that has him grumbling and rubbing his sore head. He swats Jack’s hand away, but his persistence eventually wins out. Gabriel closes his eyes and settles back down, ear pressed to Jack’s sternum.

Careful fingers graze over the top of Gabriel’s head. Between the two of them, Jack thinks he took the brunt of it as his chin throbs, but he presses a quick apologetic kiss to the injury anyway.

It doesn’t fix the real problem, which is what Jack really wants. He’s desperate to find something—anything—to grant the wraith some relief. 

“I’ll be fine, Gabe,” he tries again. “I trust you.”

Gabriel lifts his head, the infamous Reyes family eye roll making an appearance. “Hah, remember the last time you trusted me, Strike-Commander Morrison?”

Irritation at the low-blow drives Jack to flick the top of Gabriel’s scalp. Retaliation fuels Gabriel’s returning jab to the underside of Jack’s jaw. Neither are pleased. 

Just as the sinking feeling of a stalemate is about to set in, Gabriel throws him through a loop by conceding with a barked, “fine, fine!” as he pulls back and sits up. 

With room to breathe, Jack scrambles into a mirrored sitting position and waits out Gabriel’s animated speech laying down conditions and precautions—betraying the fact he’s clearly thought about this more than he’s willing to let on. There’s some back and forth on whether or not they should do it in the bathroom or kitchen, but Jack refuses with the argument that the couch is more comfortable and they’re getting old.

“I’ll set down a damn towel or something,” he grumbles with finality and gets up to do so. 

When he re-enters into the living room, Gabriel’s legs are hunched up to his chest, shoes off as he waits on the couch. He watches, unsmiling and eyes inquisitive as Jack moves closer. It takes an invitation for him to slide over to the other end of the couch and closer to Jack. Gabriel surprises him when he straddles and sits heavily on his lap, large hands pawing at his shoulder and neck while looking him over, concentration lines etched on his forehead. 

In an instant, the nerve-wracking tension of being observed snaps. Gabriel’s face relaxes before he tilts his head and narrows his eyes, expression softening like he means to kiss Jack. Before he can, Jack squeezes his waist. 

“You’re a good man, Gabe,” he says. It sounds too earnest and fond—sappy like a love confession—even to his ears, and Gabriel responds with a snort. He seals his lips over Jack’s, stifling any further sincere remarks.

Kissing Gabriel is… really good. Even when Jack has to watch for sharp teeth. Sometimes his mind wanders to what it may have been like before if Jack had the guts to make a move ten… twenty years ago, back when they were just army brats in over their heads with a lifetime to love on each other. 

But what they have is now, and Jack can’t imagine being any happier than he is. 

Gabriel’s beard is soft and kept long enough that Jack can smooth his thumb over it when he holds Gabriel’s face in his hands, their mouths and bodies moving lazily in unison. Keeping it sweet is the best way to relax Gabriel, to be tender and reverent despite the days of longing and distance burning under Jack’s skin. He hasn’t had him like this in days, but he can wait just a bit longer for that. Gabriel is suffering—more so than usual.

Several attempts to end the kiss and free Gabriel’s mouth for other things are foiled—either on purpose or through ignorance. Instead, Gabriel leans into him, ravaging his mouth, no longer satisfied with gentleness and craving something that goes deeper. It says _I missed you_. It says _I missed you more than I thought I did_. 

Eventually, hand cupped at the base of Gabriel’s skull, Jack guides him down to the column of his throat. Gabriel resists and refuses to rush, taking his time as if he isn’t starving. He marks the trail from Jack’s lips to throat with kisses and a playful nip at his jaw. Head thrown back and throat exposed, Jack expects him to get to it, not suck and mouth at his pulse until his skin stings with a bruise. The bridge of Gabriel’s nose nuzzles under the delicate underside of Jack’s jaw, inhaling before ducking down and… licking his throat, apparently. The sensation is unexpected and new, but evidently is satisfying to Gabriel, whose chest vibes with a barely audible groan.

The unmistakable hard line of Gabriel’s cock in his sweatpants presses into Jack’s stomach before rocking shallowly against him, the movement made harsher as Gabriel’s tongue works harder and hotter against him, bottom teeth scraping sensitive, exposed skin. When Jack hears what might be a frustrated whine, he says Gabriel’s name. There’s no response.

“Gabriel,” he tries again, and this time Gabriel stops moving completely. 

Jack tries to pull back to look at his boyfriend, but something in Gabriel seems to snap. One hand shoots behind Jack’s head to pull him back by his hair while Gabriel’s open palm presses into the base of Jack’s throat.

“Sorry.” Gabriel’s voice is rough and thick with lust. “Sorry, just...” He takes a breath and releases it, easing the pressure on Jack’s scalp. “Gimme a second. Hold still.” 

That’s when it occurs to Jack that this is equal parts nerves as it is foreplay. He wraps Gabriel up in his arms, embracing him tightly as he waits for him to take the plunge. 

Once Gabriel is drinking, it isn’t too bad. 

The initial bite is unpleasant. It takes less pressure than he expects for Gabriel to break the skin, but the thick cords of muscle in Jack’s throat painfully reject the intrusion. What makes the process truly irritating is their healing factor. Every thirty seconds or so, Gabriel has to bite down harder, and with that comes another fast flood of blood to the wound—sometimes even too fast for Gabriel to capture all of it in his mouth. A few stray streams trickle down, the warmth staining Jack’s shirt. 

Something possesses him to soothe Gabriel through this, hand slipping down to the small of his back and massaging the tense muscle bundled there. It earns him a grateful rumble, clawed fingers sliding up into white hair and scratching his scalp affectionately. Closing his eyes, Jack prepares himself to endure more just as Gabriel pulls off and away. An uncharacteristic “thank you” is rasped in his ear, Gabriel's wet and blood-sticky lips grazing his jaw as he slides off Jack’s lap and onto the floor.

Concern over Gabriel’s harsh breathing through bloody lips takes priority over applying pressure to the wound at his throat. Jack reaches for him but stops when a halting palm is raised and all he can do is wait for the green light. It takes a few agonizing minutes, and once Gabriel appears to have calmed down and regained some of his senses, he looks at Jack and blinks, his movements slow and deliberate. When their eyes meet, Gabriel’s are dark, pupils dilated so wide there’s only a thin line of red in the depthless black.

“You…” he starts, gesturing to his own throat. 

Jack tugs at the towel he’s sitting on and applies it to the bite wound, plucking at his bloody shirt. For the most part, the gory bite to his carotid isn’t actively bleeding, but it still left a mess, as most arterial injuries do. Luckily, if there was one thing the Omnic Crisis taught them, it was getting bloodstains out of their clothes and uniforms.

As his mind goes down a mental list of what cleaning products they have in the bathroom, Jack takes off his glasses and gently peels the shirt off, wincing as the spots of dried blood provide an unwanted wax job. To his surprise, Gabriel is attentive and offers a hand, taking the shirt from him. 

Under the impression Gabriel means to clean it himself, perhaps out of gratitude, Jack smiles haughtily. 

“See?” He sits a little straighter, chest puffing out. “That wasn’t so—mmfph!”

The shirt, as it turns out, is an obstacle to be tossed aside so Gabriel can assault Jack’s senses, clamoring back on his lap to claim his mouth, tongue wicked and evasive.

For whatever reason, eating always winds Gabriel up. After his weekly transfusion, he’ll stumble back to their room, loose and happy before proceeding to fuck Jack into oblivion and sleep for a solid eight hours after. But this time it’s different—the strong tang of Jack’s blood mingling in their mouths. The initial desperation calms and slows into Gabriel treasuring him as if pleasure and pleasuring could convey his worship of Jack’s entire body.

Gabriel wraiths without warning, tunneling to their bedroom and returning victorious with lube. The tenderness shown to Jack doesn’t extend to himself. As soon as he sits back down on Jack’s lap, he immediately starts with two fingers pushing into his ass—not bothering to shuck off his own sweatpants. It doesn’t score many points for sensuality, but Jack has to admit the desperation is pretty fucking hot, his interest piqued. 

It’s with a relentless determination that Gabriel opens himself while practically tongue-fucking Jack. Lingering, searing kisses seem to help ease the discomfort of rushed preparation, or at least help as a distraction. The few times Jack pauses to look at his partner, Gabriel’s eyes remain closed until they open to see why he’s no longer being kissed, expression soft and dreamy. 

Jack gropes his ass, smirking. “If you keep this up, these are going to have to go.” Two fingers curl around the waistband, pulling it back and releasing it with a _snap!_ for emphasis. The wraith’s eyes go comically wide, slapping Jack’s hands away and pinning them to the back of the sofa. Their eyes lock as Gabriel dissolves his own clothing, leaving only his shirt and socks. He releases Jack’s wrists only to hastily undo his jeans.

When Jack’s cock finally pushes into his tight heat, it's like something eases in Gabriel. The soft “ah” being dragged out of him sounds—if Jack had to put a name to it—relieved. Like somehow he needed this.

Hell, they both did.

For a second they stop to catch their breaths, unable to do more than look at each other as Gabriel adjusts to Jack’s length sheathed fully inside of him, their panting chests nearly flush against each other. Gripping the edge of the couch cushions on either side of them, Jack can feel Gabriel slowly relax around the intrusion. 

Once they’ve collected themselves, Jack leads and thrusts up shallowly. The heat is perfect around his wet cock as Gabriel occasionally rises and pushes down to meet him, insides flexing and tightening around Jack’s dick on particularly well-aimed thrusts. Searing pleasure floods up into his brain with every rhythmic contraction, the slap of his thighs against the back of Gabriel’s being the loudest sound in the room. As soon as Jack finds a steady pace, however, Gabriel switches into something erratic and fast, hungry and demanding for _more more more_.

All Jack can do is hold on as Gabriel takes until he’s drunk with rapture, head dropping to his chest and ass tilting back with an arch of his spine. His head lolls to the right, ear pressed to his own shoulder, as he grips Jack’s shoulders and slides up and down his slick cock, riding it with ease. His lips part, breath strained and heavy. Otherwise, Gabriel is quiet—they both are. Jack wonders if he has always been like this, if it’s for the same reasons of discretion that trained Jack to be silent about his pleasure, but he never bothers to ask. Instead of a conversation, he’d rather push up Gabriel’s shirt to his armpits and drag blunt nails down his glistening front, fingers catching on his salt and pepper chest hair. Jack pinches one of his nipples before his hands each settle to cup a pec, thumb rolling Gabriel’s nipples into a hardness and then some. 

Gabriel’s pace stutters, leg jolting. He kisses with renewed gusto, and Jack tries to ignore the sting of fresh blood when that eagerness lends to carelessness, fangs nicking his lip. The metallic taste only seems to rile Gabriel up further.

The worry Jack is going to come and spoil their fun early becomes increasingly realistic. Warring for control, his hands clamp onto Gabriel’s waist. Sure, there’s a good chance Jack could get hard again before the night is over, but right now he wants to come with Gabriel, who is showing no signs of stopping soon.

“Would you, nngh.” Jack grits his teeth and digs his thumbs into the fat on Gabriel’s waistline. “Hold still, dammit.” 

Unyielding, Gabriel makes eye contact and bears down—a challenge. “Make me.”

“Fine.” He shrugs, straining for nonchalance. He’s not particularly good at it, considering the circumstances and the need pulsing low in his belly. “If you don’t want me to rock your world, I guess I’ll—”

A particularly rough roll of Gabriel’s hips cuts him off, forcing Jack’s surrender with teeth and fists clenched. His eyes close, and when he opens them to look, Gabriel is so pleased with himself that if Jack were a stronger man, he’d leave just to see if he could make Gabriel beg for him and his cock back.

“I can take care of myself just fine.” Gabriel demonstrates his self-sufficiency by nearly pulling off of Jack’s cock before sliding down hard and fast, taking pleasure from his partner.

The sensation, paired with the helpless way Gabriel closes his eyes, is going to do him in. Desperate, Jack tells himself _don’t come don’t come don’t give him the satisfaction_. He breathes hard out his nose. “That all you wanted me for?”

The responding grin is wicked, and blessedly, Gabriel stops wiggling around. 

“Well,” he starts, one of the hands on Jack’s shoulder trailing down to grab his wrist. Conveniently, Jack’s palm lands on Gabriel’s pulsing cock, the tip shiny with precome and flushed a mouthwatering dark, rosy color. Distracted by the weight and delightful heat of it in his hand, Jack is taken by surprise when Gabriel grabs his jaw and leads him into a biting kiss. 

“The rest,” he murmurs, breathless as he mouths at Jack’s chin and jaw, nipping playfully, “is just a bonus.”

Jack inside him, Jack around his cock—he’s fucking up into Jack’s grasp and rolling his hips down in an endless loop of debauchery. 

Any chance of a distraction putting off his orgasm is out the window. How could anything be more enticing than this—Gabriel, brow furrowed and biting his own lip? Gabriel, letting out the soft little, “yeah” that always signals his impending release? The muscles of his stomach twitch and undulate as they work, riding hard, and Jack has to clench his whole body, waiting for Gabriel to catch up. Running his free hand up and down Gabriel’s front, he responds with his own little, “yeah” of encouragement, a small thing compared to how loud the voice inside Jack is, demanding to come, begging Gabriel to come first.

The moment of no return is soon, coherent thoughts feathering as Jack scrambles to gain purchase and pump his cock into Gabriel without restraint before his fist grips the base of his own cock tight. 

Gabriel shoots him a bewildered—possibly pissed—look until Jack says, “My turn.” He flips Gabriel over on his back, head near the arm of the couch with Jack fucking him like he means it. His eyes widen, but he pulls Jack down, locking both arms around his neck before Jack can read anything else in his expression. Gabriel tenses around his leaking cock and—

The sudden flare of pain makes Jack plateau. It takes a second to register that it’s coming from his neck, Gabriel pumping his release all over the fist trapped between their bodies. It takes him another second to realize Gabriel’s teeth are the reason for the pain, that Gabriel doesn’t stop drinking until he’s finished coming. Whatever the blood does for him, giving him orgasms that last longer than usual appears to be one of its perks, cum coating Jack’s hand liberally.

When he releases his hold around Jack, it’s quick, as though he’s the one who’s been bitten. Automatically, Jack sits up to give him room. 

The pained look on his face is easy to decipher: he feels bad and knows that an apology won’t change anything. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and mutters something about going to the bathroom with his eyes averted, his sweats manifesting as he stands.

This time, Jack is better about remembering to apply pressure. His fingers gingerly trace over the bloody punctures in his throat—messier and deeper than the last. He chalks it up to spontaneity or loss of control, which isn't an excuse, but knowing the cause is supposed to give them something to work with and improve upon—if their therapist is to be believed.

Gabriel returns with a washcloth clutched in his shaking hands, wringing and straining the fabric beyond use. The deep frown and forehead wrinkles give away his hard concentration and hesitation. 

"Jack, I didn't…"

Offering him a line to pull him out of the deep waters his mind has contrived, Jack goes for levity. He cocks an eyebrow and leans back on the couch with his arms folded. 

"This gonna be a regular thing now, Reyes?" 

Gabriel flushes and defensively smacks Jack’s arm with the towel. "Shut up. I didn't mean to, asshole."

“It’s fine if it... you know.” Jack smiles lavisciously. “ _Helps_.”

At that, Gabriel looks embarrassed—even insulted. He mumbles an “I don’t need help” before leaving the room again. 

The remark might have been in poor taste, Jack realizes after. Between feedings, getting hard and orgasming isn’t exactly easy for Gabriel and his high threshold, an unfortunate side effect that originated from SEP and only got worse with age.

A minute later he returns from the bathroom—bearing no signs of ill will—with a towel that hasn’t been half wrung to death. He stops at the refrigerator and grabs two water bottles, tossing one to Jack without looking. The paper towel roll on the counter follows, Jack also catching it with practiced ease. It’s mostly useless—the bite isn’t as severe as the first one, even if it hurt more. The wound has already stopped bleeding, but he presses it to his neck just for something to do with his hands.

Next to him, Gabriel is dabbing at Jack’s stomach and chest with the warm, damp cloth. It’s gentle as he cleans his own release off, hand grazing the clean skin and giving Jack goosebumps. The air is cool against the wet patches of his abdomen. The warring sensations tantalize and the muscles in his stomach jump, his cock twitching and catching Gabriel’s attention.

“Hey.” He frowns at Jack’s dick. “You didn't…”

“...yeah.” 

“I can—”

It suddenly registers that Gabriel is sporting a fresh shirt while Jack remains shirtless. He shifts, ruddy dick obscenely exposed and jeans left undone. He clears his throat. “Yeah, sure.” 

Getting worked up again takes a few minutes of kissing and coaxing touches before the familiar throbbing of his cock returns, already eager from being so close to coming earlier. Gabriel is quick to sit on his lap as he did before, thumb pressed against Jack’s slit. Precum coats his fingers and eases the slide of his fist. Gabriel’s wrist flicks and Jack’s hands automatically fly to the cushions for purchase. 

Jack knows he should be more desperate, more hurried, but it’s hard to be. The sooner he comes, the sooner Gabriel will leave him. Maybe not the room, but certainly off his lap at the very least. The thought makes him ache so hard he breaks their kiss and grabs Gabriel’s wrist, slowing his ministrations. The effort is lost on Gabriel, who pumps his fist around Jack’s cock and drags lazy kisses over his nose and cheekbones. Jack’s grip tightens.

“Wanna take my time,” he says, voice gruff in a way he knows Gabriel likes. Jack holds Gabriel’s blank stare, watching as his hazel eyes dilate. There’s a sharp inhale and Gabriel sits a little straighter. Fondness spreads throughout Jack’s chest as Gabriel ducks down for a quick kiss, his hand cupping Jack’s cheek and gazing at him. Time doesn’t matter anymore when Gabriel looks at him like that, or when Gabriel lines up Jack’s cock with his entrance, murmuring permission to be used and taken.

Once inside Gabriel, the lost arousal flares, white-hot and furious, putting Jack into a daze. Everything is sensation. One moment he’s holding Gabriel close and jackhammering his hips helplessly, the next he’s coming deep inside him. Somewhere along the route from point A to point B, he’d spun Gabriel around. They toppled off the couch, Gabriel’s back pressed to Jack’s front as Jack worked his cock eagerly between his cheeks and inside once more. His thrusts, harsh and frantic at the end, became hard and deep once he’d reached his climax, unable to stop fucking Gabriel as he filled him with a hand at his throat. Their lovemaking tapers into shivery thrusts before Jack stops, smothering Gabriel between the carpet and his large, heavy body.

Exhausted, Jack is content for about five seconds before Gabriel complains about his weight. Jack removes the hand cupping the front of his throat, but makes no other effort to move, resting his chin on the side of Gabriel’s head.

It’s comfortable for another five seconds before something—or really, someone—swats at him. 

“You’re warm.”

Jack hums. The heat feels good. “Thought you liked that.” 

“I’m not complaining.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

Another stretch of silence falls over them, allowing Jack to relax, brain floating in all the post-coital chemicals. It’s great. He _feels_ great, even when he pulls out of Gabriel and rolls off. At that moment, he realizes he’s never truly appreciated how soft their carpet is. Jack feels like he could melt straight into it. 

Something close to that happens. The next thing he’s aware of is waking up, face down. His absolutely radiant boyfriend stands above him, nudging him with his foot while wearing a severely bored expression.

“If you sleep there all night, you’re going to bitch at me in the morning. And I’m not carrying you after doing most of the work.” A toe flicks his shoulder. “C’mon, sunshine. Get up.”

Jack flops onto his back with a groan, arm tossed over his face and eyes protectively. The smug bastard knows him too well. 

Jack tucks himself back into his jeans and sighs. “You’re the one who started this on the couch.”

“Yeah, and you finished it on the floor, you animal.” There’s a smile in Gabriel’s voice, but not on his stoic face. “Pretty sure I got goddamn rug burn thanks to you.”

Gabriel helps him up so they can get ready for bed. They spend ten minutes hunting for Jack’s glasses, which had been shoved into the couch during their shenanigans and thankfully left unharmed. It’s… uncanny in its normality, as if Gabriel isn’t a vampire, as if he hasn’t been avoiding Jack for days. Instead, they are two men vying for the single bathroom sink, taking turns to brush their teeth and occasionally hip-checking each other.

Every moment where they fall back on their old communication habits reminds Jack they still have a long way to go. Two steps forward, one back, he’s heard, and while he knows he shouldn’t—can’t—harp on their faults, he also can’t let things go. Not like last time.

A week ago their therapist asked permission to share their opinion on something, and both Jack and Gabriel gave the omnic the go-ahead. _You're always wanting to protect each other, but you don’t always take care of one another_ , they had explained. _Focusing all your efforts on the broad notion of protecting the other can cause you to fail to be good to each other in the process._

It was easy to laugh it off with Gabriel after, a sort of coping mechanism grizzled army dogs develop when dealing with things that mean something and hurt. They both knew a third party was the only way they could work through their problems, even if it went against their instincts. Other people went to therapy, other people talked—other people weren’t the men of action SEP had created. It went to show how much Gabriel wanted him that he agreed they couldn’t fix their problems alone in the first place.

Their therapist’s words are ringing in his head while Gabriel takes his sweet ass time flossing. In the mirror, Jack watches Gabriel. He sees the look on his face when Jack’s hand wraps around his throat. He sees the flush on his own face when he remembers he did the exact same thing earlier in a fit of passion. Again, Gabriel’s body relaxes at the touch, a delicious display of trust that would make Jack hot enough under the collar to do something about it if he was a younger man. 

Trailing his fingers to the back of Gabriel’s neck, he begins to massage the tight chords there before spreading to his shoulders and squeezing hard. On some impulse he bites Gabriel’s neck, hard as he can muster without breaking the skin, thinking it’s only fair. Whatever page Jack is on, Gabriel is clearly on it now, too. His back goes ramrod straight, the muscle Jack has his teeth buried into tensing. The string of floss pulled taut between his hands snaps and his skin heats up—whether it’s embarrassment at his reaction or out of pleasure is unclear.

Jack releases him, kissing the bite after reviewing his handiwork. Deep teeth imprints are dug into his neck. Satisfied, he pats Gabriel on the back. Gabriel groans and drops his head back, sounding a touch frustrated.

“You’re not off the hook, Gabe,” Jack says, quiet.

Immediately, he seems to know what Jack’s talking about. It must have been on his mind, too. 

“I know,” he sighs.

“We’re going to talk about this later.”

Stepping back from the sink, Gabriel swaps positions with Jack in the small bathroom, large hand on his hip as he guides him. The touch lingers, as if not quite ready to let go. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts with his exasperated, “Yes, _dear_.”

“No distractions.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, goosing Jack, who squawks, and escapes before any retaliatory discipline can be enacted.

As quickly as possible while being boyscout thorough, Jack goes through his nighttime routine. Before joining Gabriel in their bedroom, he chances one last look at himself in the mirror and prods at the wound on his neck. The edges of the bite are red and shiny as they heal and close together, the area sore when Jack touches it. It’s not… bad, per se. 

Over the years and various lovers, he’s gotten used to love bites and bruises fading without a threat of being there come morning. The thought of having to cover up with a turtleneck tomorrow for modesty’s sake fills him with an odd sense of pride and belonging. Gabriel marked him and it’s stayed so far. _Giddy_ shouldn’t be something applicable to old grizzled men, he thinks, but it would be a lie to say he wasn’t.

Routine dictates that Jack will be the one to turn off the bedroom lights and navigate the darkness until his knees hit the corner of the footboard. Gabriel’s already pulled back the covers for him, and they find each other in the pitch black for a perfunctory kiss goodnight before he takes off his glasses. 

Despite his satisfied exhaustion earlier, Jack can’t rest. The buzz under his skin thwarts any chance of settling into a hard and fast sleep, even with Gabriel lying next to him, hand curled against his chest. He can tell Gabriel isn’t sleeping either, but he’s trying his best to fake it. Jack leans over to flick on the lamp and grab his glasses before trying to get comfortable again.

“Winston keeps asking when we’ll start training cadets. I keep putting off telling him,” he starts conversationally to break the silence in the room. He turns, pressing his cheek to his pillow to face his partner. “Gabe.” No response. Jack presses a cold foot against Gabriel, who grumbles and squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. “Gabriel.”

“Telling him what?” he relents.

“Telling him no.”

Gabriel opens an eye. “Really.”

Adjusting his glasses, Jack wiggles down the bed and puts himself at eye level with his unconvinced boyfriend.

“If I start training cadets, it’ll turn into something else. Always does.”

“And you’re against that?”

The doubt in his voice—the fact that it’s a question at all—irks Jack. “Of course I am. I’m not—” It’s an old fight, he recognizes, and it’s one he doesn’t want to have right now. They can argue about Jack’s perceived inability to settle down later. For now, he’s changing tactics. “Besides, we’d have to work on your bedside manner first.”

Gabriel looks intrigued. “My bedside manner?”

“Yeah,” Jack scoffs, “I saw you with the cadet earlier—Monroe. I know you like hazing the new kids, but this isn’t the old Overwatch. I can’t cover your ass the same when you decide to traumatize them.”

“Traumatize? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about being patient with operatives who aren’t going to be able to do what you want right away.”

“McCree never listened to me and I trained that mongrel! He turned out alright! Besides, what’s patience going to do for them?”

Jack shrugs. “It’s the kind thing to do.” 

“Well.” Gabriel snorts derisively, rolling his eyes. “Good thing you're the kind one in this relationship.”

He shakes his head. "No, I'm nice,” he says gently, pointing at himself and then Gabriel. “You're the kind one.”

“Is there really a difference?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a sigh as he says, “Of course there is,” and rolls over and away from Jack. After tugging more of the covers to his side of the bed, Gabriel mutters, “Tell me about it in the morning.”

Morning feels far away, even after he squints at the large digital clock on his nightstand that tells him it’s nearly 0200. Dawn will be rising in the Gibraltan sky in just a few hours and with it many of the morning people on base. Jack is usually one of them—0530 on the dot he’s in the kitchen getting coffee and breakfast started so he can take it back to their room and tempt Gabriel into wakefulness. The wraith claims he doesn’t have to eat anymore, but those claims are nonexistent when bacon is involved. Jack’s gotten better at sleeping in the older he gets, though. Maybe tomorrow will be one of those days.

Turning over to switch the lamp off, Jack pauses and decides against it. “Hey, Gabe?”

Instantly, Gabriel responds by folding half his pillow over his ears and moaning in indignation. “ _What_ , Jack?”

Hesitation makes his jaw lock, but he knows it needs saying. “Space is… fine, but tell me. I can’t… do before. Not again.”

Gabriel rolls over and considers him with a thoughtful expression on his face. The lines in the middle of his forehead translate to “I’m sorry,” and he reaches out to squeeze Jack’s forearm. 

Jack pats his hand, an “I’m okay,” and Gabriel gives another squeeze before absentmindedly patting his arm and rolling over in bed. His back is broad, and there’s just something about white t-shirts and tank tops on Gabriel that drives Jack wild. They tease too much and hint at what’s underneath—a landscape of scars on hard-won muscle and a softening waist. After turning off the light, Jack’s hand snakes up the front of Gabriel’s shirt, palm mapping the ridges and tears in his skin before settling slung around his waist. Time passes like this until restless fingers scratch at the hair of Gabriel’s belly just to hear a sleepy grunt from his partner before he rolls over onto his stomach, successfully trapping Jack’s arm and sabotaging any further ticklish attempts.

A million thoughts could keep him awake all night, and with those thoughts, a thousand worries. They dim, though they never waver, as an overwhelming realization lights up his brain: it’s a beautiful thing, getting to touch someone like this—especially when you want them this much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Kyla La Grange's "[Cut Your Teeth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GINpKSkZawk)." This fic was originally inspired by another song of hers, "[Vampire Smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWNRRnXmGKs)." The original title was _I want a scar that looks just like you_ , but I thought it was too similar to another fic of mine. Oh well! Listen to "Vampire Smile"! It's tasty AF for all you bloodsucker fuckers out there. <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!! For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!!


End file.
